“Second child, sir?” Zenos asked.
“Yes!” Shin shouted as he ran down the stairs.
Lieutenant Karna chuckled from the outer office. “About time, Captain! Good luck!” he called. “Zenos, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
“Yes, sir,” Zenos called back. “Take your time.”
All alone in the office, he looked around and took quick mental notes. He was there for research, after all.
Although the documents on the desk were organized and tidy, the fort didn’t seem overly formal, and the lieutenant and the captain appeared to be on easy terms judging by the laughter he heard before the captain came in to interview him, and the casual send-off the lieutenant shouted as the captain left.
Zenos admired the overly large, clear windows of the command office, which revealed a great deal of the forest to the east and west, and the village in the south. The enormous windows in the forward office also afforded an unobstructed view of the forest directly to the north. Much more than he expected, but that was exactly what he needed to find out.
Through the western window he spied the captain sprinting, at an amazing pace for such a burly build, out the fort’s gates and down the road south towards the village. Yet another piece of crucial information: the captain was a very fast runner, and wholly devoted to his family. And either today or tomorrow, another Shin would be born.
There was a great deal to be learned here, and already new developments.
“Looks like I got here just in time,” Zenos whispered with a smile.
---
Two men sat in a darkened room.
“Any news?” Mal began.
“You mean, any more bodies or canoes wash ashore?” Brisack smirked. It really had been one of Nicko Mal’s more ridiculous ideas.
Mal clasped his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. “We weren’t to bring that up again, remember?”
“That’s what you decided, not me,” the good doctor pointed out. Mal was an easy target tonight.
“What I was asking was, any news from Edge?” Mal tried to recover his casual tone.
“What kind of news, specifically?” Dr. Brisack said with teasing smile.
Mal sighed loudly. “You know what I mean! I saw Relf leaving the Administrative Headquarters, and he was smiling. I didn’t have time to ask him myself so . . .?”
“Yes, he’s a grandfather again. Got the news this afternoon,” was all Brisack told him. Antagonizing Mal was one of the simple joys of his life.
“Well?!” Mal steamed.
“Well,” Brisack said slowly, enjoying the tension building in his companion’s face, “it’s a good thing Mrs. Shin survived your little Guarder raid. She’s delivered a healthy son. Another male Shin that can grow up to become a High General Shin. Just what you wanted, correct? He could be the fourth general.”
Mal growled quietly and massaged his hands.
“Shin got lucky,” he mumbled. “He always gets lucky. Speaking of women delivering babies, did you finish your research about the dangers of women birthing too often?”
“That’s nearly finished,” Brisack smiled at the shift in topic. “Just need to summarize the findings and print it for the villages, should anyone else question the need to keep families small.”
Mal shrugged at that. “Still think you made too much of it. Gadiman had things under control—”
“Under control?!” Brisack spat, his joyful moment over. “He was ready to execute that midwife! How’s that ‘under control’?!”
“That’s why we have him, my good doctor. To sniff out potential threats. Question those who question us. Find those who would unravel the cloth that weaves our society together,” Mal slipped into a practiced speech. “Yank one thread inappropriately, and it all comes apart.”
“I know the rationale,” Brisack said impatiently, “I helped you write it! But people simply want knowledge. They’ll follow laws more willingly if they understand why they exist. It’s not merely about population control. What I’ve done is demonstrate to that midwife, and everyone else, that childbirth truly is a grave danger to women. That’s why I never let my wife subject herself to it.”
Mal opened his mouth in a vain attempt to stop the speech he dreaded was coming, but once Brisack started, it was easier to end a stampede.
“We improve women’s lives by birthing fewer babies!” the good doctor exclaimed. “To birth once is a tremendous risk. Twice? It’s nearly unconscionable to submit a woman to such strain and suffering. To allow a woman to endure it a third time? Through accident or an oppressive husband or her own misguided sense of duty or desire?” He shook his head sadly. “Expecting changes a woman’s mind. Have you ever heard a new mother talking?”
The bored frown of Mal told him the question was completely unnecessary, and Brisack should have known that.
“Well—” Brisack continued undeterred and eager to reveal his findings.
Mal just made himself comfortable for the duration.
“—I’ve heard enough of them state how their entire view of the world changes once they become a mother. I realize they generally mean it in a constructive way, but child birthing alters their mental state, turns normally logical women into emotional creatures that can’t think clearly. Such irrationality is manifested even more dramatically after the birth of the second child, moving some women to become so severely imbalanced so as to desire the experience again, even while knowing the government strictly forbids it.”
Mal examined his fingernails, as if he could see them in the dark.
“And on occasion they drag their husbands into this state of defiance,” Brisack blathered on, “and he becomes as manic as she does in a desire for a third child, despite all evidence, all laws, and all logic! Tragic.” He sighed sadly.
Mal nibbled at a hangnail.
“So unnecessary. Amazing, really, that they can even raise their children to adulthood after such alterations,” Brisack said in genuine wonder. “I simply can’t figure out why they put their bodies through so much torment and their minds into such a state of frenzy. Can you imagine the frame of mind of a woman with four children? Or eight? She’d be a lunatic!”
“Most women already are, Doctor,” Mal intoned lazily. “You’re just too prejudiced to notice.”
“Well, we’ll have far fewer challenges once all the midwives in the world understand,” Brisack ignored the accusation, “and can make the women they treat realize that they’re under the duress of their conditions. The Drink certainly is the only—and best—course of action. That’s why I spend so much time perfecting it years ago.”
“No need to convince me of anything, Doctor.” Mal spat out his hangnail. “It sounds like you’re the one wrestling with a prick of conscience.”
“I’m not!” Brisack declared. “I truly feel this is the best. And now every woman in the world can understand why, too.”
“Except for that midwife,” Mal sniggered.
Brisack went pale. “What do you mean, that midwife?”
“She’s missing,” Mal said dismissively, picking up some pages to signal he was ready to move on to another subject.
“No!” Brisack gasped. “Gadiman?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters! You promised me nothing would happen to her!”
Mal shrugged easily. “I really don’t know what happened. I just received a note from Gadiman saying that when he went for another interrogation, she was gone.”
“You don’t know what your weasel did with her?!” Brisack bellowed.
“She may have left on her own,” Mal said, unruffled. “Hiding somewhere. That would be the most sensible, wouldn’t you think?”
“She did nothing wrong!” Brisack protested. “She was only was wondering. Since when do we punish for that?”
“She wasn’t punished, Doctor. At least, I don’t think she was,” Mal said, unconcerned. “What does it matter, anyway? Just another woman. The world is
crawling with them. They’re inconsequential beyond their ability to entertain men and birth another generation. And maybe bake a pie.”
“And people wonder that you never married,” marveled Brisack.
---
The forest grumbled and belched and trembled. The trees masked bottomless chasms that stank of sulfur, fountains of scalding hot water that shot into the air, and seemingly innocent patches of bubbling mud that burned. The forest was known to devour animals, people, and—the stories said—hope.
The midwife should have been terrified to be there, but she wasn’t. In fact, for the first time in far too long, she felt safe as she picked her way through the dense foliage.
She’d been too vocal in Idumea—she knew that, and would have to explain herself. But if she could do the math, anyone could.
Their population was dying, albeit slowly.
That could be fixed by allowing the request of a very few parents. But her ideas proposal had garnered the attention of Administrator Gadiman himself, the biggest mistake she could have committed.
Keep a low profile and your name quiet. Make no lasting connections. Avoid drawing attention to yourself—
But she had to try. And now, fear of that weasely man had sent her running.
Home.
Chapter 2 ~ “My wife, you are insane.”
“Captain, do you have a moment?” Karna asked through the partially opened office door. “Zenos made contact again.”
Perrin quickly snatched up his quill and grabbed a clean piece of paper. “Of course! Send him in!”
Zenos came in, dressed in regular work clothes and wearing an eager grin. “Saw him again, sir! Just before the eastern canals.”
“I pulled back the patrols when I realized Zenos was talking to someone in the trees,” Karna explained. “I should get back out there—”
“Certainly,” Shin gestured to him, “Go, go! See if we have any other confused Guarders out there.”
Karna grinned, winked at their volunteer, and bounded back down the stairs.
“Sit, Zenos,” Shin told him as he dipped his quill into the ink bottle. “Tell me everything he said, no matter how bizarre. He still thinks you’re some farmer’s son?”
“Yes, sir. I was strolling at the edges of the fields they just planted, hoping to catch sight of him again. Since I’m not in a uniform—”
“—is precisely why I recommended some changes last year,” Shin grumbled. “We could learn so much more if we weren’t so obvious! But the Command Board . . . well, never mind. So Zenos, what did he say?”
“He was a bit more coherent this time,” Zenos explained, “I think because I fed him, first.” He winced in apology. “I’d taken an extra beef sandwich from midday meal and had it in my pocket in case I got hungry, and . . . well, the Guarder seemed half-starved . . .”
The captain shook his head. “I have no problem with you feeding him, Zenos. It’s a sandwich well spent. If he sees you as a provider, he’ll become more comfortable with you and perhaps reveal what’s going on.”
Zenos’s face relaxed in relief. “I was hoping you’d feel that way, sir! I kind of already told him I could give him more tomorrow at the same time.”
Shin smiled. “Well, bring more than a sandwich. It’s a proven fact that the people will follow whoever will feed them. I’m hoping he’ll eventually follow you all the way to this office.”
Zenos shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m that skilled yet, sir.”
“If you joined up officially, I could train you,” the captain hinted. “I need men like you.”
“Thank you, sir. I know,” Zenos shrugged again, looking down at his hands in bashfulness. “It’s just that . . .”
Captain Shin sat back to analyze his volunteer of three weeks. Zenos often demurred like that, as if intimidated by himself. But he was far more naturally skilled than any soldier Perrin had met. And so far there had been no responses to the inquiries about a missing younger-than-legal boy. Nor had there been any reports about a girl looking for her run-off boyfriend.
The boy was as innocent as his face, which didn’t even have the decency to sprout any pimples. Perrin saw Zenos in the market place a few days ago grinning at the sellers, and receiving many shy and hopeful smiles from Mahrree’s former students, but he was so naive he didn’t even notice them.
The boy was simply so pure.
Perrin would snag him, eventually. He just needed the right lure. But in the meantime—
He picked up his quill and poised it over the paper. “So Zenos—your report?”
Zenos quickly looked up from his hands and he sat back at attention.
He even did that better than most soldiers.
“Sorry—yes, sir. At first he told me we were planting our corn all wrong.”
Perrin’s quill hesitated over the paper. “He what?”
Zenos nodded. “He’d been watching the farmer the other day, and said we should be planting the corn in small hills instead, with a cut up fish to nourish the plants. Much greater yields than planting the corn in rows.”
Shin put down the quill, perplexed. “Why would he be concerned about our plantings?”
“I thought it was an interesting idea,” Zenos offered. “Maybe the Guarders know something about improving crops?”
“Why would they? Or, maybe he’s planning to steal those crops in Harvest Season, and thinks it’s easier to hide in the small hills rather than rows?”
Zenos pondered that. “Probably right, sir. Still, would be interesting to try, don’t you think? At a farm away from the forests, to see if he’s right?”
Perrin growled quietly. “I’m not accustomed to taking agricultural tips from our enemies. What else did he say?”
Zenos cleared his throat. “Well, this won’t be too helpful either, then. But maybe . . . uh, he said that improving yields are crucial to feeding the population. We have lots of fallow land, and even small gardens could be used for vegetables and fruit trees.”
“Our population is fed just fine,” Perrin squinted. “We’re at a stable and maintainable rate, we never have a lack, especially since the crop controls were established. He’s interested in our population rates?”
“Maybe because they need our food?” Zenos suggested. “He said that their women have so many children now—”
Perrin pointed at him. “They are looking to raid our crops. Very good, Zenos. Now we know to keep our farms more carefully guarded, especially once Harvest comes around.” He quickly scrawled down some notes.
Zenos smiled to have been some use.
“I’m curious,” Perrin paused, tapping his quill on the ink jar, “Just how many children? Did he say?”
Zenos nodded. “Well, in the middle of his rambling he said there was a woman who recently had her fifteenth child—”
Perrin’s mouth dropped open.
“—then he said something about most of them have smaller families, averaging about six or seven children. Then he started on about something with teaching chickens to fly—”
But Shin was shaking his head slowly. “A ‘small’ family is six or seven children? Unbelievable. Likely have so many to replace their population. I can only imagine how many of their people die each year. Fourteen here just last year.”
Zenos nodded soberly. “Yes, I’ve heard all about that, sir, from some of the men. Makes my back itch to think about it.”
Shin chuckled.
“I also started thinking, sir,” the young volunteer began hesitantly, “you’re a father, and seem to be a devoted one at that—if you could have more than two children, would you? Considering that it seems apparent Guarder women still have so many—”
Perrin stiffened. “Do you know the name of Gadiman, Zenos?” the captain asked brusquely.
Zenos blinked rapidly at the captain’s abrupt change in tone. “Uh, sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Perhaps you’re more familiar with his title: Administrator of Loyalty?”
Zenos g
ulped. “Ah, yes sir. That Gadiman.”
“Would you like to meet the Administrator of Loyalty, Zenos?” Shin’s tone was cold as death.
Zenos gulped again. “No, sir?”
“That’s right—you don’t. But asking such kinds of questions will earn you a one-way journey to Idumea and an extended discussion with Gadiman. To answer your questions, Zenos: no, I’ve never considered the thought of having more than two children. That is the law of the land, and I’ve sworn to uphold it. Querul the First recognized that our population couldn’t exceed one million people, or we’d run into the same divisions and shortages we suffered under the Great War in 200—”
“I know all about that, sir,” Zenos tried diplomatically to cut him off.
“If you did, you wouldn’t need a history refresher right now!” Shin snapped. “After the war, Querul told families to maintain only a replacement population, that women should birth only two children. When his son Querul the Second took over, he enforced that law ruthlessly. While the First turned a blind eye to the occasional woman who had three or even four, his son made sure that any woman expecting a third time never birthed that baby. If she survived the soldiers and their brutality, she certainly could never conceive again!”
Zenos swallowed hard, but the captain wasn’t finished yet.
“Fifty years ago The Drink was developed to ensure no accidental violations of the law occurred, preventing women from having more children after the second. Not only has it kept our population in balance, it has preserved women from the difficulties of expecting. I’ve seen it twice, Zenos, first-hand. It’s an enormous sacrifice, and nothing a woman should have to endure too often!”
If the captain thought his lecture would scare the large young man into silence, he was mistaken.
“Sir, I know the sacrifices,” Zenos said gravely. “My older sister has two daughters. I saw her suffer. I also saw her joy when she held those newborns, and how much she adores her girls now. I know for a fact that she’s said the pain and suffering were nothing compared to becoming a mother. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful to the laws, I merely wondered if you had ever considered that maybe there could be another way.”
Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge) Page 3